Game, set and match or something
by Bookworm1986
Summary: So, the title screams Tennis, does it? Do you think Carrie cares? She has painting to do! Written for the World Cup prompt I received from Indigo. Not at all to be taken seriously. Caution for swearing. Poor Max is poor Max no longer...thanks to Indigo...and support


Disclaimer - I do not own Homeland. That pleasure belongs to Showtime. No copyright infringement or money making scheme intended. This is purely for reading enjoyment.

A/N Not keeping the same games or winners as this year's wold cup.

* * *

Carrie hates soccer, absolutely hates it. It makes not the slightest bit of sense to her. Not even the prospect of some good looking men, can save it from itself. Add that to the fact that Javadi has become like a child with a new toy about it all and she's not happy.

She swears this is a conspiracy, America -v- Iran for a place in the final. Someone likes to make her job difficult. Javadi of course is insisting on going and as much as she would like to stop him, there is no reason why he shouldn't go to the game tomorrow. The thought of him enjoying something makes her irate, particularly as she won't enjoy it.

"Big waste of fucking time", she angrily declares to Virgil, who is paying her no attention as he and Max are currently glued to the other semi-final, Argentina -v- Portugal.

"Fucking Messi again", Virgil shouts in delight, as Max scowls. "Have that, Ronaldo."

"What's messy?", Carrie asks seriously.

Virgil looks at her incredulously as Max answers for him, "he's talking about a player."

"Right", Carrie responds, still confused. "But why is he messy?"

"It's his name, Carrie", Max responds patiently.

"Aguero! How the fuck did you miss that? And you should have passed to Messi anyway", Virgil yells in frustration.

"Does it matter that much?", Carrie asks nonchalantly.

"Does it...", Carrie notes that Virgil seems likely to burst a blood vessel. "Does it matter?", Virgil builds up a head of steam. "Of course it fucking matters! This is a battle of the two best players in the world. Specifically Leo Messi, leaving Ronaldo in his shadow again!"

"And?", Carrie replies, shrugging her shoulders.

"Oh for fuck sake, Carrie. Either sit and watch in silence or go do something else", Virgil says exasperated.

Carrie sits down between them mumbling to herself, "fucking soccer, fucking men, fucking idiots. Getting worked up about chasing a fucking ball."

"He's being an ass", Max informs testily. Need I remind you who is currently officially the best player in the world, brother?"

"Doesn't count. Messi was injured for long periods of the last year", Virgil says as though that settles the matter.

Max just shakes his head at Virgil with affection.

* * *

Carrie hardly understands a thing the Commentators say. She drifts off into her own little world, thinking about all the things she has to do.

"Get up! He never touched you!", Virgil yells at the TV, whilst Max screams, "foul."

Do you need to fucking shout?", Carrie questions, angry at being pulled from her non-soccer day dreaming. But of course they weren't listening. Why would they be?

"Yes he did!", Max says adamantly to Virgil, at the same time Virgil says "no it isn't". They glare at each other.

"Wow! Ok, you two. I'll be referee and I'm calling time", Carrie says, trying to defuse the situation and impress them with getting something right.

Virgil snorts, while Max scoffs, "you don't call time in soccer. You blow the whistle... for a FOUL."

"As if you'd know how to referee", Virgil adds scathingly to Carrie.

Carrie looks between them, glaring at them.

"And it wasn't a foul", Virgil rages at Max. "He was hardly touched and went down like he'd been shot."

Carrie turns back to the TV, "shit. Quinn isn't in the crowd, is he?", she asks with genuine concern.

Max and Virgil look at her as though she is from a different planet.

"It's an expression, Carrie", Virgil says as though talking to a child.

"It's fucking possible", Carrie snaps, fed up of being treated like an idiot. She subconsciously rubs her arm.

* * *

Carrie is bored to tears. She thought that watching paint dry might actually be more exciting, but she didn't have any paint. So, she settled for nail polish and doing her nails. Suddenly she finds herself being hugged by Virgil who is whooping with Joy.

"Virgil!", Carrie says exasperated. "You've spilled the nail polish everywhere!"

"A Messi hat-trick. You beauty," Virgil yells, not listening.

"Virgil!...", Carrie begins, then stops. Virgil is not listening, having now turned to gloat at Max. What the hell is it about soccer that turns them all into children? Anyway, does she actually give a fuck what a messy hat-trick is? No, she doesn't. So, why bother with the grief she'll get from Virgil for asking. She fumes silently.

"the referee blows the full time whistle here in Sao Paulo", the Commentator's voice is heard over the TV.

"Great game", Virgil says, smirking at Max. Max just glares back at him.

"Thank Christ that is over", Carrie says in relief. "Just tomorrow to put up with. Whose bright idea was Friday night soccer? I mean I could be doing something else on a Friday night."

"Yes, thank you, Carrie", Virgil interrupts her. "We don't need the details", he finishes with a grin.

Virgil ducks as Carrie throws a cushion at him.

"If I didn't know you really are that clueless about soccer, I'd think all those stupid questions were on purpose, to ruin our enjoyment", Max says laughing.

"Hey!", Carrie begins, but then stops. Smiling now, she walks over to Max and gives him a kiss on the cheek, "Max you are a life saver. I'll see you both tomorrow." Carrie leaves Max and Virgil's room to go to her own. She had a list of stupid questions to write, to ask Javadi during the game tomorrow. She had to keep herself entertained somehow...and if it annoyed him, all the better.

* * *

Max touches his cheek with his hand.

"How come you got the kiss?", Virgil asks annoyed.

Max smiles and says, "you got Messy."


End file.
